The following is an excerpt from the first chapter of my bdsm novel Leather God Descending. In it, Adam, an experienced leather dom, has met Riley Sanderson, an police officer who is curious about exploring submission. So he’s invited Riley over to his house, and told him to wear his uniform:
But ultimately I decided that what Sanderson wanted was a Leather Daddy. So I went full leather. I put on my codpiece, and then my best chaps. I wished Todd or Kyle or one of my other boys were here to help dress me. In its own way, leather is as much of a pain in the ass to put on as an 18th century woman’s gown. Both are supposed to restrict the body in certain ways, and that means having a valet is a real help. And my chaps were getting tight in the thighs. All those hours in the gym doing squats and deadlifts were continuing to pay off, but it meant I was going to have shell out another $350 for a new set of good chaps soon.
The boots are also a pain in the ass when you’re wearing tight chaps, because chaps make it harder to bend at the knee, unless you leave them unzipped, in which case you have these big flaps of leather to manage as you’re getting your foot in the boot. One of the best parts of having a trained slave was having someone who can provide proper boot service when getting into and out of leather. Having a boy straddle your leg, clamp his thighs onto it and support it while he pulls on the boot and tightens the laces is so much easier. Especially if he has a nice ass for you to look at while he does it. But I didn’t have a boy for boot service tonight, so I just fumbled my way into a pair of army jump boots.
I slipped on a chest harness, one of those dom harnesses with the ring in the middle of the pecs. It showed off my pecs to best advantage; they’re not spectacular, but I hit the gym enough to carry the look. Then I shrugged on my favorite biker jacket, one I’d owned for years. It was a bit worn here and there but it spoke to experience. A muir cap and leather gloves completed the look.
I admired myself in the mirror, a hot leatherman with a nice chest with a decent amount of hair, chaps over muscular thighs, the jacket adding to the impression of size and the boots and cap adding a good three inches of height. You need to cut back on the carbs if you ever want your abs to show. My hair was salt and pepper these days, but that just made me look more like a daddy. The only thing missing was the aviator sunglasses, but wearing sunglasses at night indoors looks way better than it works, so I left them off. I looked more than enough the part without them. I just spent a minute luxuriating in the feeling and smell of the leather and the sense of power that it granted me. It felt good to enjoy that feeling again.
Then I settled down in the living room and wondered if Sanderson was actually going to show or not. I honestly had no idea. I’ve learned over the years that at least half the novice boys who say they will show up, don’t. They chicken out at some point and stand me up. I always feel sorry for those boys. They want so badly to explore the desires they feel inside, but something keeps them from indulging. Sometimes it’s a worry that I’m a secret lunatic who will murder them after I tie them up, even if I tell them I won’t tie them up the first time. For others, it’s fear that someone will learn about what they’ve done and they’ll be socially ruined. You’d think in a city like San Francisco that wouldn’t be an issue, but a lot of guys fear it anyway. And a whole lot of them just can’t give themselves permission. Maybe it’s religious guilt over being gay, or a sense that being submissive isn’t masculine enough, or just fear of what’s hiding behind that door in their heart, and it’s just safer to not open it, except when they’re jacking off in private. Those boys are doomed to live their lives unfulfilled, wanting something they’re too afraid to let themselves have. I can help them open that door, but they have to find the courage to knock and then step through when it opens. I really hoped that Sanderson was going to find that courage. I wanted to play with him more than any boy I’d played with in years. I wanted to be that guide again.
At almost exactly 8:45, I heard someone step onto my porch. There was a long pause, and I fully expected that he’d walk away again. But after what was at least three minutes, he knocked.
I waited a bit and then walked to the door, slowly. I intentionally let my bootsteps echo on the wooden floor of my entryway. It sounds more dramatic and ominous for the boy. I paused at the door for effect, and then opened it.
Officer Sanderson was standing there in his full uniform, other than the sunglasses. Even the cap. I noticed that he had his nightstick on his gun belt, but not his sidearm. Smart precaution on his part. My cock jumped and my heart raced for a second before I got myself under control. Time to bring out the dom. I just looked at him hoping I looked impassive and not excited. Excited says service, not being served.
After a moment, he shifted nervously. “Hello…sir.”
“Hello, boy. Are you ready for this?”
He swallowed. “Yeah, I think I am. Sir.”
“Are you sure? You can turn around and walk away, boy. There’s no shame in that. But once you step through this door and let me take charge of you, there’s no turning back. You won’t be able to unlearn the things you’re going to learn about yourself. You’ll walk out of here a different person than you came in. You have to be ok with that.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then suddenly he started talking and didn’t stop. “I’ve wanted this for years. Since high school maybe. But I thought it was wrong. I thought I was some complete freak. I didn’t know why I wanted another guy to take control of me or what I wanted to do or whatever. But I knew I wanted it. And it scared the hell of me, so I tried to act like the tough guys I saw on TV, because I was afraid that other guys would see me for what I was. And then I became a cop because I could be strong and tough and still help people and make a difference. But it doesn’t really make me feel strong inside. It’s like there’s something missing. And then today when I heard you talking about it, it started to make sense. And you seemed like someone that I could trust with all of this stuff and…” He broke off and was silent for a moment. “I want this, sir. I’ve always wanted it. Please. Show me.”
I nodded and smiled a little. ‘Telling me that took courage. And that’s what a boy needs. That’s what I look for in a boy. Come in. You’re ready for this.”
As I stepped back from the door, he stepped in right away. He knew this was what he wanted.
“So let’s get the unsexy part over right away. I’m neg, got tested a couple weeks ago. I don’t bareback, unless I’m training the boy and know where he’s been. You?”
“Uh, neg. I got tested a few months ago, but I haven’t been with anyone since then.” There was something he wasn’t saying, but I was pretty sure he was telling me the truth.
“You know what a safe word is, boy?”
“Yes, sir. I heard you explaining it today, and I’ve read about them online a little.”
“Good. Tonight’s safe word is ‘red’. If you need me to stop what I’m doing, you say that, and I’ll stop and make sure you’re ok. Understood?”
“Say it right, boy. Yes, sir.” It’s important not to let the little mistakes slide the first time.
“That’s better. Because if I don’t hear that word come out of your mouth, I’m gonna do whatever I fucking want to you, and I’ll get pissed off if you don’t follow my orders. Understood, faggot?”
He hesitated and then agreed.
I pointed toward the living room, just to the right of the entryway. I’d moved the coffee table out of the way so there would be a good space to work in. “Get in there and stand on the rug, facing the fireplace.” That put him with his back to me. I just stood there watching. He stood on the rug, let his hands hang anxiously at his sides, and then after fidgeting uneasily he hesitantly pulled them up behind his back. I waited a few more moments and then slowly circled round him, looking him over but not saying a word. That made him nervous. I enjoyed watching him worry. Finally I came to a stop in front of him, looking into his face.
“Look at you, the big bad cop. A real fucking stud.” I suddenly reached up and batted his cap off, hard enough that it hit the couch. He flinched. I’ve always wanted to do that to a cop, and it felt every bit as powerful as I’d thought it would.
“Now, let’s see what I get to work with.” I began to unbutton his shirt, not the easiest thing to do when you’re wearing gloves, but they were skintight police search gloves, so I knew I could do it. His torso slowly came into view and it was every bit as nice as I expected it to be. He was tall and lean. His pecs weren’t huge, but they were perfectly defined. His abs were similar. He must have shaved his chest a couple of days ago, because there was just a hint of stubble across it. I smiled my Predatory Dom smile.
“Very nice, boy! You work out a lot. I’ll bet you get lots of looks at the gym, wearing your tight Under Armour workout gear, don’t you?”
His dry mouth made it hard for him to respond for a moment. “Yes, sir.”
“And you like it that way, don’t you? You want the other guys checking you out.” That wasn’t a hard guess to make. Almost every gay guy who hits the gym that often likes being checked out. But again, it’s all about the illusion of mind-reading.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
Time for the educated guess. “And you know deep down in your heart that you’re supposed to look sexy for the real men all around you. You know you’re a sex object, a pretty boy for the pleasure of others.”
His eyes widened. “Y-yes, sir.” What he didn’t ask was, how does he know that? Because at least half of the buff subs I’ve played with think exactly the same way. Mind-reading established. That always made getting to the real interesting stuff easier, because now he thought there was no point in trying to hide it.
“Take off your gun belt, boy. You won’t need it.” It took him a bit to process the command, and then he started fumbling with it, unsnapping the belt keepers that held it attached to the belt on his pants. When he took it off, I motioned with my head and he dropped it near the couch. “Now the shoes.” Done. “Now the pants.” Done. He was wearing dark blue boxer briefs underneath, my favorite kind of underwear. He was hard.
I circled around him, admiring the way his boxer briefs snuggled his ass. I squeezed one cheek and leaned in. “Nice ass, boy. Perfect for fucking.” He got real still, always a good sign in a sub; it meant that he wanted me to go further. I reached around and spread his shirt open with my hands. The feeling of his tight, lean body pressed against my chest was very satisfying. Then I started running one forefinger over each nipple. He started breathing hard. “Yeah,” I whispered into his ear breathily. “You like that, don’t you, boy?” He started to answer but I cut him off. “Shut the fuck up. I don’t need an answer because I already know it. You faggots are all the same.”
I let go of him and then yanked down his briefs, and ordered him to step out of them. Then I moved around to the front. His cock was hard and wet. It was a nice cock, just about 6 inches long, straight, cut, with a clearly defined head. I ran my fingers over it, knowing that he was certainly enjoying the feeling of the leather on it. I stroked it gently, getting it nice and wet with his precum. Then I reached up and smeared it on his lips. He opened his mouth and I slid my fingers in. “You’ve got all the right instincts for a bitch. When something is put up to your lips, you just open up and take it in. Look at you, all turned on, with your cock sticking up unable to hide it. You’re not a real man, are you, boy?”
“,…No, sir. I’m not.”
“You’re a pussyboy, aren’t you?”
He was silent, his face full of reluctance. “Answer me, boy.” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out except labored breathing. “Answer the question, faggot!” I said it more emphatically but not more loudly.
“Say it.” It’s one thing for a boy to be told he’s submissive. It’s a whole ‘nother thing to say it himself. But in my experience, every novice boy needs to say it. He didn’t. So I got up in his face. “Say it!”
He hung his head. “I…I’m a pussyboy, sir.”
I caressed his face with my hand. “Good boy! That wasn’t so hard, was it, boy?”
“No, sir. It’s just the truth, isn’t it? I’m a pussyboy.”
I slapped him, just hard enough to startle him. “I’m a pussyboy, sir.”
“Yes, sir. I’m a pussyboy, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I’m proud of you, boy.” And I was. I kissed him. I think he was surprised that I was being gentle with him. He reciprocated and reached out to embrace me. I pulled back, and put on my Stern Dom face. “Boy, did I tell you you could touch me?”
He snapped back to a more rigid stance, and folded his arms behind him. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“This isn’t about you, faggot. This is all about me and what I want. When I want you to touch me, I’ll tell you. Get down on your knees, asshole.”
He dropped down in front of me, which put him just about eye level with my crotch. I squeezed my codpiece and the erection inside. “Is this what you want, fucker?”
“Yes, sir. I should be sucking your cock, sir. You’re the real man here, sir. It’s my job to please you.”
It was wonderful to see how quickly he was accepting his status and function in this interaction. “Damn right, boy. But not yet. First you need to clean my boots.” I sat down on the ottoman and pointed to my left boot. “Start with that one.”
He dropped down and grabbed my boot and immediately started licking it with real enthusiasm, while his hands wandered across my boot and the leather pants leg above it. Either he had been taking notes of how Kyle did it, or he was a natural bootlicker. He was really good at it, but I never admit that to a new sub. It’s important to make them work for my favor, or at least think they are. “Come on, shithead! You can do better than that! I want to see just how grateful you really are to have that boot in front of you.” I leaned down and pressed his face against the toe of the boot. He whimpered desperately and got more aggressive with it. This boy had needed to lick boots for a long time.
I leaned back and just admired the view. I was living out damn near every dom’s fantasy, a smoking hot cop was kneeling almost naked at my feet licking my boots and doing whatever I told him. I wanted to pull my cock out right there and jack off, but I needed to exercise self-control. I had a ways to go before I could release. I wanted to savor this boy. He was like human heroin for me. I could get addicted to him really damn easy.
I let him lick my boots for quite a while. It’s always good to let a boy think that the thing that really pushes his buttons is actually just him serving you. Finally, though, I reached down and grabbed his blond hair and pulled him up toward my crotch. “You want this cock, boy? You think you’ve earned it?”
“Yes, sir. I think I deserve it. I’m trying really hard, sir.”
“Fuck you, asshole!” I spat in his face and his eyes widened from shock. “A fucking piece of trash like you is never going to deserve this cock. If you get it, it’s going to be purely because it pleases me to let you have it. You understand me, shithead?”
He whimpered in dismay. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I’m a piece of worthless trash, sir. I’m lucky that you let me lick your boots, sir.” I was right; this boy really liked being humiliated and insulted. I didn’t even have to teach him what to say; it came naturally to him. Good, because I love verbally abusing boys. Not all boys like it, and not all the ones who like it can handle it emotionally. But I thought this boy could. I unsnapped the cover of my codpiece and let my cock spring loose. It’s about 6 ½ inches but decently thick with a prominent curve and nice head. Most boys love it, and this one was no different. He gasped slightly.
“Oh, God, sir! You have a beautiful cock, sir! Please, may I suck it?”
I grabbed his hair again and guided his head until he was just out of range of my cock; his hair was short, but just long enough that I could keep control of his head with it. He stuck his tongue out in a futile attempt to reach my dick. He groaned in frustration.
I laughed. “You think you deserve this, fagboy?”
“No, sir. I know now that I don’t, sir. A fagboy like me only gets what his master wants to share with him. Please, sir, let me pleasure you.”
I laughed again. “Boy, I’m already getting pleasure from this. I don’t need you to suck my cock to enjoy myself.” He moaned. “But I’m in a generous mood tonight. You can lick it.”
The instant I let go of his hair, he darted in and started running his tongue over my cock like it was a lollipop. He pressed his lips against it and slid them up and down the shaft, getting it slick with his spit. He slid up toward the head and circled his lips around it. “Boy…” I growled. He immediately reverted to just his tongue, trying to get all the precum I was leaking.
After a few moments of savoring his desperate obedience, I grabbed the back of his head and forced his mouth down onto my cock. “Suck it, you faggot bitch!” He didn’t need more prompting. He went to town on my shaft, working it as if his life depended on getting me to cum.
“Look at you, a faggot sucking on his master’s cock like a baby on his mama’s tit. That’s what you’re really good for, pleasing a man like me.” I grabbed his head and forced it down until he gagged. I held him there, making him struggle for a few seconds before I released him. He came up for air, long strings of saliva drooling down his chin. Then I forced him back onto it. This cop was my bitch, all right! I hadn’t felt this powerful in years, probably not since I had been with Todd. Maybe not even then.
I began to feel my load rising. I had to decide, did I want to cum right now, or did I want to fuck him? Normally I don’t fuck on a first play date, but I really wanted to this time. We hadn’t discussed anal at all in our lead up, so I knew I shouldn’t go there, but part of me didn’t really care about that. I heard the voice of older doms I know, like Karl, bitching about how negotiating takes all the spontaneity out of bdsm and that kink is supposed to be about rules-breaking and danger, and for perhaps the first time ever, I found myself empathizing with that position, even if I intellectually disagreed. The thing is, my intellectual side was less in control than normal. I was in my body and my body wanted to fuck this boy.
Did he trust me enough to let me fuck him?
If you enjoyed this excerpt, please consider buying Leather God Descending at Amazon.com.